


Boggarts, Doors, and Hurt Boys

by FactCheck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Self-Harm, Suggested child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactCheck/pseuds/FactCheck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't think he should be scared of doors, the boggart thinks otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Doors

‘It’s just a door.’ Harry tells himself. ‘This isn’t what you should be afraid of.’

But that wasn’t true, and Harry knew it.

As soon as the legless spider rolled to Harry’s feet, Professor Lupin had let out a resounding, “Here!” and took a hurried step towards Harry, but he had been a tad too slow and a bit too far and the wiggling thorax and abdomen had already shifted.

The plain, sloping white door was attached to no wall and stood by itself in the middle of the room.

In fact, one could hardly tell it was a door at all. The only feature defining it as such being a small knob against the shorter edge. Its slanted top and overall smallness, however, pointed to it not being a regular door, as one would have to bend and crouch just to get through it.

But Harry Potter knew that door well.

He could tell you what was on the other side of it and he could tell you why it was shaped as it was.

Simply put, it was the entrance to the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley’s house. Or, as few would know it except a few old, burned letters, Harry’s childhood bedroom.

Surprisingly, the first emotion that flickered across Harry’s mind was not fear, but _shock_. The wand in his grasp, held up and ready to take on whatever the boggart turned into, lowered a fraction as the object in front of him registered in his brain and he was stilled by the incomprehensiveness of the situation.

The confusion, of course, was quickly overtaken by the gut wrenching panic that wracked over Harry’s body as he remembered the dark, cold feeling of being stuffed and abandoned inside the small room.

Harry tried to reason with himself that it was _just a door_. It couldn’t hurt him; it wasn’t a dementor or Voldemort. It was a simple cupboard door.

But the thoughts did nothing to stop the fear that poured into his limbs, making them stiff and icy. It didn’t stop his eyes from filling with tears and his throat drying and threatening to close. It didn’t stop his heart from pounding fast enough that he could hear blood flowing in his ears and feel it rushing out of his cheeks. Nor did it stop his breath from quickening, fighting against his narrowing windpipe, and his hands from trembling.

Harry’s body paid no heed to what his mind was saying, forcing his thoughts to change from, ‘this can’t hurt you’ to ‘we have to get away’.

He moved one foot back, his wand forgotten and held limply at his side as he kept his eyes on the door. His body was ready for the feel of large hands or dainty claws to push him forward, to open the door and lock him inside.

He didn’t want to go inside.

He didn’t want to be locked away.

He didn’t want to be forgotten.

Harry didn’t register it at first as a body slid in front of his own, his mind not catching up to the fact that the boggart had only been shifted into a door for less than a second, enough time for the Professor to reach him.

Harry didn’t see what the inconspicuous white door turned into, because his body was already moving on its own and he turned on the spot and pushed through the crowd - neither his eyes nor hands registering the people he knocked against, only that an exit was in sight.

Harry’s mind didn’t take back over until he was at the entrance of the Gryffindor Common room.

His lungs burned and he felt weak but he wasn’t sure if that was because he had run from the staffroom or just the after effects of fear.

“Do you have the password, boy?”

Harry flinched at the name, his body tensing and ready to run again, but he shook his head to clear his mind and clenched his fists tightly.

He mumbled through the password without looking at the Fat Lady and slipped in as quickly as he could.

Harry felt dirty.

He felt tired and dirty and just plain _terrible_.

He climbed the stairs on the boy’s side and headed for the bathroom.

He needed to shower; to scrub the imaginary dirt off of him.

He had messed up big time.

The water was scalding hot when Harry stepped under the showerhead. It burned his skin and seared every place it touched and Harry was thankful for the pain.

He scrubbed at his body roughly, the embarrassment was starting to catch up to him as the last dregs of panic slipped away. Harry couldn’t believe that one of his most well-kept secrets had almost gotten exposed, because he knew without a doubt that if he had waited any longer, a younger, less-capable version of himself would have come out, whether physically or metaphorically, and then everyone would _know_.

Know how disgusting and useless he was.

But Harry, most of all, couldn’t believe that he had _ran away_. Especially in a class with Draco and the rest of the Slytherins. They still hadn’t let his incident with the dementors on the train go and now he had given them even _more_ fuel to torch him with.

The only plus side was that the boggart had chosen something as ordinary as the cupboard door instead of- Merlin forbid- _Uncle Vernon_.

But he was still stuck with the dilemma of explaining _why_ the boggart had chosen a door to Ron and Hermione. Everyone else he could ignore, but not _them_ ; Hermione especially wouldn’t let it go for sure.

“Harry?”

Harry jerked away from the wall, his mind finally fully registering the pain of his red, scrubbed-raw skin that the hot water was damaging even more.

“R-ron,” Harry stepped away from the water, turning it off blindly as he faced the red head standing in the open-door way.

Over his shoulder, Harry could see Dean and Seamus. Dean, being taller than Ron, hid most of his snooping by peering in around the door frame and Seamus, being shorter, used Ron as a shield and watched over his shoulder.

Harry blushed at being caught unclothed while the others were fully dressed and he reached for the nearest towel, pulling it tightly around his body self-consciously and ignoring the pain as the fabric rubbed roughly against his still-raw flesh.

Ron glanced behind him at Harry's action and grimaced, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Hey! We share this bathroom too!” Seamus shouted as he hammered a fist against the door twice.

“We all know you don’t have to use the toilet right now, Finnigan. Go away!” Ron called back.

“Yes I do! You have no proof that I don’t!” Seamus responded irritably.

“Just leave it, Seamus.” Dean’s voice interjected and the annoyed sigh that could only be from Seamus followed the words as the sound of their footsteps led away from the door.

“Fine, but if I have to piss, it’s going to be on his bed.”

Ron huffed out his own irritated sigh and turned away from the door to look back at Harry. Their eyes met and both thirteen year olds looked away at the awkwardness of the situation.

“So, ugh, you kind of left early and Hermione told me to tell you that Professor Lupin assigned us homework.” Ron blushed, flustered and embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his head as he looked to the side, his body angled away from Harry’s to provide the illusion of privacy as if they didn’t shower together every morning in the communal boy’s bathroom.

“Oh, thanks.” Harry answered lamely. He shook himself lightly to try and orientate his mind better. He licked his lips to wet them, his tongue catching leftover drops of water, the cooled liquid heating back up in his warm mouth, and bit at the inside of his lower lip lightly before opening his mouth again. “Ugh, what was the homework then?”

The question seemed to startle Ron somewhat as he lowered his hand from the nape of his neck and turned back towards Harry.

“I-ugh…” He stopped and his brow creased slightly in concentration. “I can’t remember.”

Harry let out a startled laugh at the answer before the laughter continued to spill past his lips, and after a second of paused confusion, Ron joined in as well and they both stood in the bathroom, chuckling at their own awkwardness.

“I guess we’ll just have to ask Hermione then.” Harry finally got out as the laughter started to die down. He really did appreciate Ron and how easygoing he could make him, it felt nice to have such a great friend that could make him feel a little bit more normal.

'To bad I'm not normal.'

The thought took Harry off guard.

The cause of their awkwardness rushing back into his mind and sickness swelled at the back of his throat as the imaginary filth he couldn't hope to scrub off made itself known again. His eyes dimmed and he pulled the towel tighter around himself.

The towel suddenly felt too soft, even against his damaged skin, and Harry wished it was rougher.

Ron watched the light fade from his friend's eyes and his own smile waned.  

“Yeah…”

Harry tuned away from Ron and stepped towards his clothes, running the towel quickly and roughly over his body to dry off before neatly folding it and setting it on the counter and reaching to pull on his clothes.

“Hey, Harry…”

Harry hummed out a response and turned back towards the taller boy while pulling his shirt over his head.

“What happened back at the teacher’s staffroom?” Harry paused in fixing his shirt and stared at the ground for a second before straightening the hem and looking at Ron.

“Oh it was nothing, Ron. You shouldn’t worry about it-“ Harry stopped when his eyes caught Ron’s and he looked away as he grabbed his dirty clothes off the floor.

“Harry, I think we both know that wasn’t nothing. You ran out of the room for Merlin’s sake!” Ron stepped forward and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, the flinch that followed not going unnoticed, but being ignored for the time being. “We’re best friends, Harry. You can tell me anything.”

Harry was trying to contain the sudden onslaught of terror that coursed through him as Ron touched him. Despite just taking a shower, he still felt like he was covered in grim and now that filth was rubbing off on Ron. He held still and tried not to move because he knew that it would hurt Ron’s feeling if he brushed him off, but he was _dirtying_ him.

Harry gave a tight smile and nodded. “Of course we’re friends, Ron, and I’m telling you the truth, it isn’t anything to worry about.

“Excuse me, I need to put my clothes away.” Harry gently lowered one of his shoulders and walked around the taller boy.

He let out a sigh of relief as soon as he opened the door, but his skin burned, especially where Ron had touched him and he chastised himself silently for allowing his friend to get dirty.

He stepped into their shared room and set his dirty clothes on the floor in front of his bed for the house elves to clean that night. Harry could feel Ron step in with him, but the taller boy made no move to talk to him, so Harry ignored him.

While Harry organized his bag, getting out his homework assignments and books, he searched his brain for an excuse that Hermione could accept.

“We should head downstairs and meet up with Hermione, she’s probably waiting to hear from us.” Harry came back to his senses a few minutes later at the words and wanted to disagree as soon as it registered in his mind, but there was nothing left to do and he had no arguments to give him a few more minutes, especially since he needed to get Lupin’s homework assignment from Hermione, so he stood up and nodded his head in agreement.

Ron walked past him and towards the door and Harry followed behind him, stopping when Ron paused.

“Ron?” Harry questioned, looking at his friend’s back in curiosity.

Ron turned around and looked down at Harry, his eyes unreadable. His mouth twitched open like he was going to say something before it clenched shut again. He faced the door and walked out.

Harry stood in confusion for a second before shrugging it off and following him.

Just as he feared, the common room grew quiet as soon as he stepped inside it, but he ignored the stares and whispers and continued towards Hermione.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, Hermione was up and rushing over.

He caught her before she crashed fully into him, but Harry could feel the burn in the places that she touched and he could almost see the dirt that was rubbing off on her from him. He kept her at arm’s length, something he always did and something she didn’t question anymore.

“Harry! Are you okay?” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes searching him over like she could spy the problem if she looked hard enough.

Harry smiled forcefully at her, discreetly trying to push her away and off him.

“I’m fine, Hermione. It’s nothing to worry about.” Harry was starting to feel like a broken record, something he found that wasn’t as uncommon as he would like it to be.

He steered Hermione away from the open and into the seat she had vacated and sat down at one of the two empty seats next to her, the other filled immediately by Ron.

“Harry, we all know it wasn’t _nothing_. So tell me what it was.” Hermione stared sternly at him and Harry went through all of his ideas, the knowledge that not telling Hermione anything was not even an option.

He finally took his experience with lying into hand and decided on a half-truth.

“It’s really nothing, Hermione. I just had a bad experience with the cupboard under my uncle and aunt’s stairs.” Harry tried to give a slightly sheepish smile, pushing down the nausea that was fighting in his stomach and promising to work its way into his throat. “I accidently locked myself in it once and it was a traumatizing experience, that’s all, really.”

Harry finished with a small, embarrassed laugh and rubbed the back of his head.

Hermione stared, unconvinced, at his story.

“Then why’d you run away?”

Harry was slightly taken aback by the forcefulness of the question, and he bit his lip and ran through any explanations.

“Well…it’s embarrassing to be scared of a _door_ , Hermione. I didn’t want to have to deal with Malfoy’s remarks if I stayed. It’s already bad enough that he uses dementors against me, but now I’ve gone and given him an even lamer weapon. You’ve got to understand _that_ , Hermione.” Harry hoped that his desperation wasn’t shinning too brightly through his explanation, but he had a feeling he was failing miserably.

He waited for Hermione’s conviction as she stared him up and down in his seat, measuring his truthfulness.

After a full minute she smiled and nodded. “I understand, Harry. Let’s hope Malfoy doesn’t get too bad.”

Harry laughed with her, relieved that he was able to explain it away.

“So, Ron was telling me Lupin gave us homework..?”

Harry lost himself in his work, glad that he was able to push away his secrets again.

Over his head, Hermione and Ron locked eyes and nodded, lips pinched and eyes concerned.

            Their gaze drifted back towards their friend.


	2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a dream and a waking nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this story when it was first published, it's been edited since.

It was dark.

Dark enough that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. Dark enough that he didn’t know if six hours had passed or an entire day.

The gnawing emptiness in his stomach and the throbbing pain in his wrist (How had he hurt it? He couldn’t seem to remember) provided a hot beacon that distracted him minutely from the cold chill of the closet. The bedding, bare and uncomfortable, felt like sandpaper against his arms and legs. The spider legs dancing across his skin and through his hair felted light and ticklish and the only comforting thing in the small, cramped space.

Harry reached up to grab at one; he wanted to hold it in his palm, feel the living creature  dance across his hand.

He wanted to know he hadn’t disappeared into the darkness.

But his hand didn’t fall upon any spiders. He couldn’t feel their soft bodies. His fingers brushed across his skin and he felt nothing. He didn’t even feel his own form.

Harry sat up - or tried to at least.

The blankets he thought were wrapped around him had no weight and the spiders no warmth.

Harry could feel nothing but the cool darkness and the hunger and his hurt wrist and Harry felt _afraid_. 

He struggled in the weightless air, his limbs flailing - or at least he thought they were, but there was no movement, no noise; there was no space that they could disturbed.

Harry was starting to panic.

His lungs felt heavy and his throat tight. He arched his back as his mouth opened to scream but _nothing_.

 _Nothing_ came out.

Harry wanted to cry. He was scared. It was dark.

He was alone.

He was **_forgotten_**.

“ _HARRY_!”

Who was calling for him? Where were they?

“ _HARRY WAKE UP!_ ”

Aunt Petunia? How late was it? Did he miss making breakfast? Was he in trouble again?

“ _HARRY PLEASE WAKE UP!_ ”

That couldn’t be Aunt Petunia: she wouldn’t beg him.

Harry awoke with a jerk.

It took him a few seconds to resort himself. He was sitting up in bed in the boy’s section of the Gryffindor tower. He was sweating and breathing heavily. His limbs trembled, his hands, gripping the bedding tightly, shook and felt cramped and cold.

“ _Harry?_ ”

Ron?

Harry turned his head to see that Ron was perched on the side of his bed. His pale, freckled hands gripping his shoulders - had he been shaking him? His face was creased with worry; eyebrows pulled together and mouth in a sharp, tight line.

“Harry, are you okay?” Harry looked away from Ron’s concerned eyes to see the other boys awake and staring at him as well. The one who had asked was Neville, the poor boy holding his own blankets to himself, his eyes darting around the room in fear.

“I’m…” Harry stopped. He knew the answer, but they- _they could not find out_. “I’m fine. Just a dream. It was nothing.”

He bit into his lip, hoping they took it without question.

“Tell that to my ruined beauty sleep.” Seamus grumbled irritably, glaring blearily from his covers. He flopped back down on his bed and turning his back away from them.

“I don’t think any amount of beauty sleep could fix you face, Seamus.” Dean taunted back, ducking out of the way of the flying pillow as the rest of the boys laughed at Seamus’ cry of outrage.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the mood lightened and the others’ attention drifted away from him.

He made a motion to lay back before he was stopped short by the hand still on his shoulder.

Harry shuddered in revulsion, not daring to look up at Ron whose skin was only saved by Harry’s thin nightshirt. Harry thanked Merlin that he had thrown it on instead of just sleeping in his usual night pants, even if it stuck uncomfortable to his back with the layer of sweat that coated his skin.

The hands gripped him tightly as his shivered and he could see Ron in his periphery leaning down to try and establish eye contact.      

“Harry?” It was a whisper. Quiet, not meant to gain anyone’s attention but his own. “Harry are you okay?”

Harry tried to shrug the hand off his shoulder, but Ron didn’t budge.

“Harry, I need you to tell me if you’re alright.” A sudden anger ran through Harry at the words and he could feel his cheeks fill with blood as his breath caught uncomfortably in his throat. Why couldn’t Ron just accept what he had said earlier? Why did he need to tell him again? He had just answered that question!

“I said I’m fine.” Harry snarled quietly, slapping away Ron’s hand with his own.

He regretted it as soon as he felt his skin smack into Ron’s. The red flush of annoyance that had reddened his face fled and he turned a shocked pale. He could feel the dirtiness of himself crawl off of him and onto Ron; staining him and digging into his skin permanently.

Harry stared at Ron’s hand in horror.

“I’m sorry.” Harry wasn’t sure when his brain had sent the signal to his mouth, but he was glad of it as he felt too numb to speak consciously. “Ron, _I’m so sorry_.”

Harry couldn’t look at Ron’s face. Literally could not. He felt frozen in place, the drapes around his bed felt suffocating, the presence of the others in the room, obvious and debilitating.

He could see his hands shaking in his lap. He could see it but not feel it. It was just like in his dream - nothing tangible, physically, even if his sight could capture it clearly.

Except it wasn’t dark here.

The light around him suddenly dimmed and Harry panicked further. He was trapped again. He was _forgotten_ again.  

He was taking in deep breathes, but his lungs weren’t working - they kept pumping alongside his heart to take in oxygen, but the air was stuck in his throat, felt like a solid mass, and it suffocated him. His heart felt painful and banged against his ribs forcefully.

“Harry? Harry, are you okay? You’re scaring me.” Ron’s face swam into his vision as the taller boy grabbed Harry by the shoulder and forced him to look at him. Harry could see over Ron’s shoulder the closed curtains of his bed. Had Ron closed them?

“Harry you’re trembling - _I don’t know what to do_ \- Harry what’s wrong?” Ron was shaking him gently, his grip too tight, yet still dull to his senses. His face creased with worry and fear- _lies_.

Ron was _angry_. He _had_ to be. Harry had burst out in anger, had _hit_ him.

Ron’s voice warbled as he continued to ask streams of questions Harry couldn’t answer. Didn’t know if he was _supposed_ to answer.

Harry was feeling light-headed as the lack of oxygen started to catch up to him. He slumped forward, hoped that Ron would leave, would tire of him, leave him without locking him up.

Ron prevented him from falling and if Harry was in control of his own body he would cry.

Ron’s face looked panicked and shocked, uncertain what to do next and _scared_. He pulled Harry against him, maneuvered them so that his own back was pressed against the headboard and their chests pressed together.

The constricting feel of Ron’s arm set Harry’s body off, his arms and legs struggling, but his mouth unable to tell Ron to _let him go_. His flailing limbs only made Ron grip him tighter, afraid that if he let go Harry would hurt himself.

It reminded Harry terribly of his dream. It reminded him of his cupboard. Of the loneliness and fear of being forgotten except this time he was wrapped in iron chains.

Was this Ron’s punishment? To shackle him? To suffocate him?

Harry fought harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Do not hold down a person having a panic attack.


	3. Promise

Harry was sure this was what dying felt like.

He had given up fighting Ron’s hold, his limbs too tired and sore to keep struggling. He felt weak. Both mentally and physically.

He hung limply in Ron’s arms, letting the taller boy squeeze him with a rib-cracking force without any resistance.  

Harry was called to attention again when he heard an audible chocking sound coming from above him.

Letting himself register his surroundings, he also became aware that the body he was lying on was shaking, the limbs wrapped around him trembled with claw-like hands gripping his sleep shirt tight enough that he feared it would rip. There was a pressure on the top of his head and he could feel the vibrations from the sounds Ron was producing travel through the roof of his skull and chatter his own jaw.

The observations managed to soothe him as his mind drifted away from the dark, suffocating feelings that tried to strangle him and back towards the present with a sort of blank calmness.

“Ron?” His voice felt thick and his tongue ached from where he must have bitten it at some point. He tried to sit up but Ron’s arms held him down and he collapsed back onto Ron’s chest as he gave up trying to force his way out.

He gave an exasperated sigh and wiggled in the other’s grasp.

“Ron, I need you to let go.” The arms constricted once, expelling all the air in Harry’s lungs out in a painful gust before loosening gradually until Harry could sit up again and they fell to the bed on either side of him.

“Merlin, Ron, I think you broke something.” Harry rubbed at his side, a grimace marring his face. His joke fell flat, ruined partly because he felt so exhausted and partly because of the very real possibility that he _had_ broken a rib.  

He looked up at Ron as he finally sat all the way up, straddling Ron’s longer legs awkwardly, their thighs touching in a way that was too intimate to be comfortable.

He froze when his eyes connected with Ron’s.

Tears were brimming in Ron’s eyes, the tracts left behind by those already fallen staining his cheeks and reflecting the feeble light. The freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose stood out starkly on his red and blotchy face as his blue eyes darted over Harry’s own face.  

Another chocked sound suddenly reminded Harry of his earlier observations and he felt thoughtless and cruel for forgetting about it so easily.

“Ron,” Harry leaned forward slightly, his hand hovering but not daring to touch.

Ron gave a full-out sob in response, his limp arms rising again and his hands pressing against his own face. Harry could feel the legs beneath him move and he sat up on his knees so Ron could pull his legs to his chest.

“ _I didn’t know what to do!_ ” Ron finally sobbed out. “ _You were shaking and you weren’t breathing and I was_ **so** **scared** _-_ “

The thirteen year old cut himself off and made a pitiful whining sound in the back of throat, his entire body heaving and racked with his sobs.

Harry’s heart wrenched at the desperate noise. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend – he wanted to comfort Ron as he had attempted to comfort him but he _couldn’t_.

Harry felt wretched.

He had done this to Ron. He was the cause of his friend’s distress and yet he could do nothing to remedy it.

He felt stupid for thinking Ron would hurt him – of course Ron wouldn’t hurt him. He was his _friend_. He felt selfish and despicable for even thinking such poor thoughts about Ron who had been nothing but good to him.

And now look what he’d _done to him_. He’d terrified him. Scared him.

What a stupid, idiotic, unnatural, _selfish_ boy.

Ron gave a shuddering intake of breath and let it out slowly, attempting to level out his breathing. With a final sniffle, he rubbed roughly at his face to erase the tear tracks and let his legs relax from their position against his chest.

They slid easily back under Harry who had not moved from off his knees.

“Sorry…” Ron was looking away from Harry, his face showing clear signs of shame. “You’re the one that…”

Ron trailed off as his brows creased in concentration.

“What was that anyways?” He looked back up at Harry, confusion and an almost timorous curiosity marring his face.

But Harry didn’t answer the question. In fact, he had not heard it at all as Ron’s previous words were swimming through his head and filling it completely.

‘ _Sorry_ …’

Harry had done something wrong. He had made Ron think that it was his fault. Had made Ron _apologize_ to _him_.

Harry settled back off his knees, his butt hitting Ron’s lower thighs but he ignored the uncomfortableness as he tried to think of a way to fix the problem he had created.

One of Harry’s hands came up, gripping at the front of his night shirt. His chest felt tight and he tried to calm it by tugging at his shirt. His stomach rolled at the thought of Ron blaming himself for Harry’s freak out.

“Harry..?” Harry’s eyes flickered up to Ron’s. The taller boy’s face trepid and concerned. “Is it happening again?”

Harry startled at the words.

“No, no, no, I’m fine Ron. I’m sorry, it was my fault.”

Harry had to calm himself down, his internal reflection was just worrying Ron even more and not helping solve the problem at all.

“I’m really all right Ron, it was nothing-“

“You can’t be serious.”

Ron cut Harry off abruptly, startling Harry into silence.

Ron sat up, no longer slouching against the headboard. He winced minutely as his strained back protested but ignored it.

“Harry, that wasn’t ‘nothing’- for Merlin’s sake you were barely even breathing!”

One of Ron’s hands came up to grip at Harry’s shoulder and the shorter boy flinched at the sudden action combined with the loud and angry-sounding tone of voice. A chill of fear bloomed in his stomach and he tried to suppress the onslaught of distress that washed through him, knowing that it would only worry Ron more.

Ron’s face softened at the motion, his hand loosening but not releasing the shoulder in his grasp. He raised his other hand and tilted Harry’s face up to meet his own.

“Harry, I’m your friend. Me and Hermione both are worried about you, we want to help you but you have to talk to us.”

Ron sounded sure of himself but Harry’s gaze lingered on the glisten on Ron’s cheeks left by the tears Harry’s breakdown had caused.

It was his fault.

“Ron,” Harry reached up slowly, his hand hesitating before continuing its path to the one resting on his jaw. The hand felt cold and clammy and Harry was reminded that it was the middle of the night on a Thursday; they had classes in the morning. “You should go to bed.”

Ron looked faintly shocked at the words, his face slowly dawning in comprehension before slowly morphing into anger.

He ripped his hand out of Harry’s and shook the smaller boy roughly.

“ _Harry_ ” Harry’s hands raised, one to grip the arm shaking him and the other to use Ron’s shoulder to steady himself. “ _Stop ignoring the problem! Stop pushing us away! We’re your **friends** , Harry!_

The cold feeling was back, but this time it started in his ribs and spread outwards until his back was tense and pained, straining with every breath.

He needed Ron to stop, he needed to find a way to get him to drop the subject without hurting his feelings or pushing him away.

He had to manipulate him.

He curled his fingers, his hands grabbing at Ron’s shirt and he was momentarily distracted by the warmth the taller boy excluded.

Ron was vibrant and alive and Harry didn’t deserve him. A sob bubbled out from his chest. He tugged at Ron’s shirt, the body heat foreign yet comforting and Harry mourned the fact that he couldn’t feel that heat without feeling like he was getting stabbed in the stomach.

It was easier to cry than Harry thought it would be. The emotions he was already flooded with helping to drag the tears out of him with little resistance until he was truly crying and not just faking it.

Ron stopped shaking him.

“Harry..?”

The uncertain voice made Harry sob harder and with a stuttering breath, Harry fell forward and wrapped his arms fully around his friend and openly bawled into his shoulder.  

Ron didn’t seem to know what to do at first before he too wrapped his arms around Harry. He tried to awkwardly pat Harry’s back before giving up and crushing the smaller boy to his chest.

“ _Ron_ ,” Harry chocked out, the single word felt like a knife in his throat, especially because of what he was about to do. “ _Ron, you can’t tell anyone, not even Hermione about what happened_.”

Ron drew back, pushing Harry’s shoulder lightly enough that he could look him in the face.

“What do you mean?”

“ _I mean you can’t tell Hermione about me breaking down._ ”

Ron pushed Harry fully off him, Harry’s thighs boxing in Ron’s knees and one arm kept him up while the other rubbed at one of his tear-filled eyes. Ron kept him an arm’s length away, his face contorted in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, mate.”

“Ron-“

“No! There is no way that I’m just going to let this slide, Harry!”

Harry gave another sob and Ron faltered, his arm stopped pushing Harry away.

“ _Please, Ron_.”  Harry reached up and grabbed at Ron’s arm, squeezing it gently and staring at him with tears brimming in his eyes. “ _Please_.”

Ron’s gaze flickered from Harry’s face to their hands, momentarily distracted by Harry engaging in contact first and of his own free will.

The hand felt so much smaller than his and he was amazed that they were the same age. Harry was such a small kid. He looked frailer then he actually was and Ron knew what the other was capable of despite his size.

Harry wasn’t weak.  

“…okay.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the agreement.

“Really?”

Ron nodded slowly, watching as the smaller boy’s face brightened.

“But!” Harry’s face dropped slightly, “Only if you promise to talk to me.”

Harry hesitated, his eyes flashing over Ron’s face.

“About what?” he started slowly.

“About whatever just happened.”

Harry paused for a minute, weighing his possibilities before sighing when he came to a dead end.

“Deal.”   

Ron’s face relaxed before a smile spread across his face.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Harry gave him an unamused look, dropping the other boy’s hand and scooting back, letting Ron pull his legs out from under him again when Harry motioned him to do so.

“We both started crying, I wouldn’t exactly call that _good_.”

Ron appeared uncomfortable at the words but didn’t disagree.

“I’m…I’m going to go to bed. Alright?”

Harry winced at having ruined Ron’s good mood and nodded back to the taller boy. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Goodnight, Ron.”

“Night, Harry.”

Ron got up from the bed and pulled the curtains back enough so he could slip past them.

Harry laid in bed for some time afterward, the regret and guilt bubbling in his stomach at having deceived Ron. For manipulating his feelings and promising him something he would never give.

He truly was a horrid child.


	4. Worthless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you were already following this story, the other chapters have been updated. Nothing wildly different, just a few cleanups

Harry woke up tired and drawn.

His eyes felt thick, sticky, and painful the second he peeled them open and they continued to be dry and irritated on his way to the bathroom. They itched every time he blinked and he could feel the dried tears that he had neglected to wipe away crusted over and under his lids.

He rubbed at them roughly as he turned on the shower.

He had already taken one last night, but after his nightmare and break down, Harry felt disgusting, and the jellied sweat on his back didn’t make him feel any better.

The water was cold when he stepped under, and Harry was glad for it. His skin still felt slightly raw and tender from yesterday’s scrubbing and the cool liquid felt pleasant against him.

Harry lightly washed his face and body, letting his body relax as the water started to get warmer the longer he stood under its spray.

When the door creaked open, Harry felt calm and the empty hole left from feeling exposed and afraid after not only seeing the Boggart but also freaking out in front of Ron, was lessened and dull.

He turned to see who had slipped inside the room and was slightly surprised to see that it was Neville. 

Neville seemed just as startled to see him and he shuffled uncomfortably in front of the doorway, seemingly unsure whether he wanted to bolt back out or step into the room. After a full minute, Neville stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.

“Um, good morning, Harry.”

“Good morning, Neville.”

The two stood awkwardly in the bathroom, Harry reminded uncomfortably of Ron and him having a similar interaction the day before.

Harry thought briefly of turning off the shower and leaving the other boy alone to his morning routine, but decided against it as the soothing warm water cascaded down his back.

He wanted the calming feeling to continue for a while longer.

“Are you going to take a shower too?” Harry finally called out. Neville jumped, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he realized he had just been standing in the doorway.

“Uh, y-yeah.”

The other boy shuffled towards the sinks, setting down his towel and clothes before stripping off his pajamas. Neville chose a shower to Harry’s left, shifting uncomfortably as he waited for the water to warm.

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the water bouncing off both him and the floor. The sound of Neville breathing and the wet slap of his feet every time he switched the leg he leaned on. The sound of Harry’s own breathing reached his ears along with the steady beat of his heart.

It was comforting.

The sound was disrupted when Neville stepped under the water. It was slightly jolting, the abrupt increase in noise, like cotton had been lifted from around his head, and Harry shifted to try and gain equilibrium.

They continued to stand quietly, Neville washing his body while Harry let the water flow over him.

“I-“ The word cut through the air, sharper and even more jarring then the previous disturbance. Neville stopped washing and instead stood still under the shower, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stared at the wall. Harry watched the water gather in the other boy’s hair and trickle down as a tiny spout in front of his face as he waited for him to continue.

“I get nightmares sometimes.”

Harry looked at Neville’s face.

The other 13-year-old wasn’t looking at him still. His cheeks had filled with embarrassment and he continued to stare at the wall like he expected it to show him a way to alleviate the stress of the situation.

Harry, stumped, turned his body more toward Neville in a silent gesture to either continue or explain, he wasn’t sure which.

Neville’s tongue flickered out to wet his already soaked lips but he didn’t look in Harry’s direction as he continued to speak.

“I have nightmares about a lot of things. About not being good enough at magic, about failing in Potions, about my- my family,” he paused, swallowing audibly and his hands fidgeting at his sides. “About my gran telling me I’ll never live up to my parent’s expectations. About being told that I’m better off dead than a Squib-“

Neville cut himself off, the hitch in his voice obvious and Harry could see tears building in the blond’s eyes.

Neville sniffled, his chin raising and he turned his eyes to the ceiling as he tried to gather himself, his clumped lashes fluttering as he blinked away his tears. He lowered his head, his palms kneading at his eyes before drawing in a shaky inhale and turning to Harry.

“If you…um, want to talk? You can…you can talk to me.”

Harry was bewildered.

He didn’t know what to say to Neville’s confession or to his offered help. The blond stared at him, his eyes red and his cheeks redder. There was a vulnerability there, painted on his face. A fear of opening himself up, of letting someone else see inside.

Harry was suddenly overwhelmed with admiration and amazement at Neville’s courage.

It was like a swelling in his chest that took him off guard and he surprised himself with the acknowledgment of the fact.

Neville was revealing himself to Harry and letting his own insecurities be known to show him that he wasn’t alone. He was allowing his own weakness to act as a pillar for someone else, to use his own pain to try and comfort another even at risk of harming himself. Neville was showing that Harry wasn’t the only one, that he wasn’t separated from others completely.

That he wasn’t the only worthless one.

…

It was like a stone dropped in Harry stomach. A ball of lead that crashed through him and wrecked his lungs.

It was hard to breathe, hard to think.

He felt bile rise up in his throat, burning the back of his tongue. What kind of monster was he? What kind of selfish brat looked at someone’s kindness and called them _worthless_? An ugly, disgusting freak, that’s who.

Harry watched as the small amount of nerve that had steeled Neville’s eyes slowly dimed the longer Harry just stood there, motionless. The blond’s face fell, and Harry hadn’t even noticed that it had hardened until his cheeks sagged and mouth parted.

Neville looked away and Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad or not, the weight of his eyes on him was suffocating.

The air in the room was thick and hot and humid; chocking.

Harry could see Neville tremble, a minute shiver wrecking his body and Harry wanted to die. Wanted to be murdered. Wanted Sirius Black to come in and cut his throat open. Wanted to be punished for daring to think such a thing about the boy in front of him.

Neville fumbled, his mouth opening and closing silently as he looked anywhere but at Harry. He reached forward and turned off the shower, his hand shaking.

Harry couldn’t look at him.

He felt sick. Disgusted.

Neville had opened himself up to Harry and Harry had spat on him. Neville had offered Harry his hand and Harry had vomited in it.

“I’m- I’m sorry, that was, um, I just-“ Neville’s voice warbled and Harry could see that his face was no longer red, but instead stark white. The other boy backed away from the showers, his hands twisting.

Harry was aware he had to do something.

Say something.

Offer some consolation, some excuse, some apology.

Anything to make it better.

But he couldn’t.

Harry’s tongue was heavy and dry in his mouth as he watched Neville scramble for his clothes.

It was getting worse by the second. Harry was aware that his revulsion towards himself was being mistaken as disgust towards Neville, that he had to say something to make the blond understand that he appreciated the words, that Neville was admirable, that the other boy was better than him.

Harry found his feet moving before he could decide what to say. Neville was trying to worm his wet legs into his school pants, his eyes filling rapidly with tears of humiliation and frustration.  He looked up in alarm when he saw Harry coming towards him. He attempted to straighten up and tripped over his half-way-on pants. He stumbled, falling back and flailing for the edge of the sink.

Harry grasped a waving arm and tugged lightly, steadying the other boy.

Harry’s mouth, following the example of his legs, opened without his knowledge and he leaned towards Neville.

“Neville…thank you,” his voice was hoarse and thick coming from his restricted throat. The sound deeper and rougher than Harry’s regular tone.

Neville stood there, shocked. One hand holding onto the sink counter and the other held up between them by Harry.

It seemed to take him a minute before he registered what Harry had said. His face shifted entirely, his eyes widening in pleased shock and his lips turning up hopefully at the corners.

“Yeah…glad to help.” 

Harry felt his heart stutter at the smile.

Neville’s elation was momentarily infectious and Harry could feel that feeling again, could feel his chest bloom.

He let go of Neville’s arm and smiled back. It wasn’t the same toothy grin Neville was showing him, but it was good enough to make Neville visibly relieved, and that’s all the mattered to Harry.

Neville bent down to grab at his pants, pulling them up and fastening them and Harry realized that he was standing naked in front of the other boy, his shower still running in the background.  

Harry back peddled, a blush rising to his face and, upon seeing it, Neville’s own face reddened.

“I’ll just, um, yeah,” Neville grabbed his shirt and dirty clothes in his arms, retreating to the door. Harry watched him go but before he left, Neville turned around and smiled at Harry one last time.

Harry smiled back, but as soon as the door closed his knees met the ground. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and tried to breath. The air felt sharp in his throat, like razors, and Harry was glad for it.

Worthless.

‘The only one worthless here is _me_.’ Harry thought to himself.

Harry stayed on the ground, his nails digging into his sides and his breath wheezing until Dean walked in, looked at Harry, and slowly closed the door again.


End file.
